short distance out of regard for the feelings of her attendants.  The party made good time during the early hours, and Hassim expected confidently to reach before evening the shore of the lagoon at a spot very near the stranded Emma.  At noon they rested in the shade near a dark pool within the edge of the forest; and it was there that Jaffir met them, much to his and their surprise.  It was the occasion of a long talk.  Jaffir, squatting on his heels, discoursed in measured tones.  He had entranced listeners.  The story of Carter’s exploit amongst the Shoals had not reached Belarab’s camp.  It was a great shock to Hassim, but the sort of half smile with which he had been listening to Jaffir never altered its character.  It was the Princess Immada who cried out in distress and wrung her hands.  A deep silence fell.

Indeed, before the fatal magnitude of the fact it seemed even to those Malays that there was nothing to say and Jaffir, lowering his head, respected his Prince’s consternation.  Then, before that feeling could pass away from that small group of people seated round a few smouldering sticks, the noisy approach of a large party of men made them all leap to their feet.  Before they could make another movement they perceived themselves discovered.  The men were armed as if bound on some warlike expedition.  Amongst them Sentot, in his loin cloth and with unbound wild locks, capered and swung his arms about like the lunatic he was.  The others’ astonishment made them halt, but their attitude was obviously hostile.  In the rear a portly figure flanked by two attendants carrying swords was approaching prudently.  Rajah Hassim resumed quietly his seat on the trunk of a fallen tree, Immada rested her hand lightly on her brother’s shoulder, and Jaffir, squatting down again, looked at the ground with all his faculties and every muscle of his body tensely on the alert.

“Tengga’s fighters,” he murmured, scornfully.

In the group somebody shouted, and was answered by shouts from afar.  There could be no thought of resistance.  Hassim slipped the emerald ring from his finger stealthily and Jaffir got hold of it by an almost imperceptible movement.  The Rajah did not even look at the trusty messenger.

“Fail not to give it to the white man,” he murmured.  “Thy servant hears, O Rajah.  It’s a charm of great power.”

The shadows were growing to the westward.  Everybody was silent, and the shifting group of armed men seemed to have drifted closer.  Immada, drawing the end of a scarf across her face, confronted the advance with only one eye exposed.  On the flank of the armed men Sentot was performing a slow dance but he, too, seemed to have gone dumb.

“Now go,” breathed out Rajah Hassim, his gaze levelled into space immovably.